


Debts

by Midground



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: A fix-it fic sort of, Drevan, F/F, Gen, Post The Screw Job, Should we call Devan/Dren Dreven?, Spoilers for Liam's latest one shot, The Screw Job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-12 13:43:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7936915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midground/pseuds/Midground
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She expected to be betrayed. At a certain point, she even expected to die. What she didn’t expect was to come back. Or to have one last bargaining chip that even The Shrew can’t ignore. Maybe it will be enough to set things right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A 3 am sort of fix it fic for a Critical Role one shot because the universe clearly wants these little gay halflings to live so who am I to say no? Devan/Dren. Drevan? Congratulations to Liam O’Brien’s one shot, Laura Bailey, and Ashly Burch for getting me to write fanfiction again for the first time in 6 years. This is barely edited. I just had to get it out after how that episode ended. Any mistakes are my own. There are most likely inconsistencies with the episode as well. I literally just watched it guys, it's the best I could do.
> 
> Edit: Now that it's not 5 am and I have more than 4 hours of sleep under my belt: Gave this things a better title, one that suits Devan more than Vex. Cleaned up the summary a bit. Made some changes to the story to clarify details and improve narrative flow. Part of me really wants to give this thing a part 2 so... no promises, but stay tuned I guess.

Air slams into Devan’s lungs and she breaths in with a gasp, choking on the sudden pain of a heart forced to beat anew. Her eyes snap open and she immediately sees the strained face of a robed stranger, sweat beading his brows. A moment later, his hands pull away from where they rested over her body, a divine glow fading. He turns.

  
“It is done,” he says. “Consider my debt repaid.”

  
Devan follows his gaze and sees her grandmother, hunched over her cane, staring at her with an unreadable expression.

  
“As we agreed,” the Shrew replies, ancient voice even. Tone giving away nothing. She does not spare him a glance as he walks away. Footsteps fade. A door opens and closes.

  
Devan can’t bear to meet her grandmother’s stare any longer and looks away, taking in her surroundings. She’s in her room. No light comes in through the windows. Most of the furniture still sits with sheets pooled next to them. She’s laying on her old bed, though there are no coverings on it. She’s still wearing her clothes from the Clasp mission.

  
The mission…

  
“Stupid fool girl,” The Shrew spits out, and Devan immediately snaps her attention back to her grandmother. The old woman stands as straight as age will allow. “You’ve stolen from me, you’ve led the Clasp into my home, and now you’ve cost me a valuable favor.” She steps forward, menace clear in her approach. Devan shrinks back against the bed and wonders if her grandmother brought her back just to kill her again with her own hands.

  
“Grandmoth-“

  
“Silence.” The command isn’t shouted, but there is steel in her tone that quiets Devan instantly. “You have betrayed me twice over and owe me more than you could possible hope to repay in a lifetime, let alone two. I was ready to leave you dead, and you would have deserved it.” The Shrew reaches the bed and inhales heavily. “And yet here we are.”

  
Here they are. Devan doesn’t know what to say. Why _is_ she alive? Everything her Grandmother said is true. She had stolen from the Shrew, gambled away her money. Her own vices had given the Clasp the leverage they needed to force her to work for them, and she had gone along with it to save her own skin. Not that it had done her any good, in the end. She remembers Obby and Delweth cutting her down. She remembers Tarvis’ whip circling her neck. She remembers Dren… she closes her eyes.

  
“The others?” She asks tentatively.

  
The Shrew scoffs. “Dead, of course. Morons.”

  
Devan’s recently rebeating heart aches. Dren, who fought for her. Dren, who was ready to give her own life so that Devan could escape.  Dren, who revived her the first time she fell. Devan can still see the desperate, hopeful look in Dren's face as she came to, the taste of a healing potion on her lips. Dren, who she had manipulated into trusting her, into loving her. Dren is dead. 

  
The choices you make in life look different once you know death.

  
Devan opens her eyes. The Shrew is watching her closely.

  
“Grandmother,” Devan sits up finally, her body moving a little stiffly. “I know I have no right. I… I have nothing to bargain with. But the Halfling girl…” Devan takes a deep breath. “If she is dead, then she died trying to save my life. I will do anything, anything you ask of me, without question or complaint, if you can bring her back as well.”

  
The Shrew’s eyebrow raises. She was probably expecting excuses. One thumb moves idly along her cane. Devan can’t always read her grandmother, but she knows that her request has caught her interest. Or at least sparked her curiosity. She waits.

  
“She’s a member of the Clasp?” The Shrew asks finally.

  
“Yes.”

  
“But loyal to you?” Her tone is far too knowing. Her dark eyes glitter, and Devan can see the wheels turning in her grandmother’s mind.

  
Devan looks down, feeling sick. “Yes.” It comes out as a whisper.

 

A long pause.

  
“It will be done,” Her grandmother says finally. Devan looks back up, surprise and elation rushing through her, a smile coming to her unbidden. The Shrew smiles as well, the smile of a shrewd negotiator who just made an unexpectedly good deal. “Perhaps we can make this work for us after all.”

  
That… tempers the good feelings. Devan’s smile falls away as her grandmother begins to chuckle. “Yes, I think I know exactly how this can work in my favor.” She straightens again and walks towards the door. “If all goes the way I think it will, we’ll consider your resurrection free of charge, though there are still many debts left to pay.” She opens the door and pauses. “Rest up, my dear. You’ll see your lady love soon. And we’ll have work to do.”

  
The door clicks shut and Devan can hear the sound of a lock being turned. She sinks back against her empty bed. At least Dren will live. Whatever happens next, at least Dren will live.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dren inhales sharply, eyes flying open, arms coming up to deflect Tarvis’ next blow. Instead, she smacks the face of an unfamiliar human woman who had been hovering uncomfortably close above her. The woman jerks back and covers her nose.

“Sarenrae’s _tits_ ,” she curses quietly, rubbing at the spot. She suddenly remembers herself and looks anxiously over her shoulder. “It worked, ma’am,” she pauses “My sister…?”

“Will be released. As promised,” another voice, an older voice, cuts in.

The woman stands and Dren scrambles back, hitting a wall immediately.

“Thank you ma’am, thank you!” The woman starts to bow, stops, then finishes the bow and stands awkwardly in the room. “Am I… is anything else required of me?” She asks tentatively. She’s speaking to an old woman seated comfortably behind a desk. A familiar desk. Dren realizes they’re in the study of Adelaide Bluebutton. Which means she must be looking at The Shrew herself. She shrinks back a little further.

“You are dismissed. Your sister will be returned later tonight. See that this doesn’t happen again.” She smiles, and it looks almost predatory, “Or don’t, I rather enjoy having a cleric at my beck and call.”

The young woman squeaks and leaves quickly through the main door.

Dren snaps her attention back to the Shrew. Adelaide watches her evenly, then gestures at the chair in front of her desk.

Dren walks over cautiously and sits at the edge of the seat, almost vibrating with nerves. She has so many questions. Like... what happened? And where is Tarvis and Obby and Delweth? And is Devan ok?  And… and… memories of the fight come back to her, a vicious crack of a whip followed by a sickening crack of…  Dren’s eyes widen. “They killed her!” She wails, unable to keep quiet any longer, tears starting to well up. “They killed Devan! Please, please tell me she’s ok! If I'm alive then she must be too! Right?"

Adelaide hasn’t even twitched. She watches as Dren’s outburst dissolves into sobs. With an irritated sigh, The Shrew flicks her fingers and sudden, profound silence descends over Dren. She can still feel the tears on her cheeks, the lump in her throat, and her body still shakes as she cries, but she can’t _hear_ it. What she _can_ hear is the _tap, tap, tap_ of a large jeweled ring on one long, bony finger rapping idly against the desk. The Shrew regards her frostily.

Shaken out of her grief for the moment, Dren suddenly realizes what a dire, deadly situation she’s found herself in. Fear, more than anything else, stops Dren’s tears, and she shrinks in on herself under that terrible gaze.

Adelaide lets her cower a minute longer, the relentlessly even _tap, tap, tap_ measuring out the seconds, before she finally speaks. “I came home from a pleasant evening out to find three live thieves and two dead ones in my home.” Her voice is low, calm. “I killed your remaining companions and dumped you all in my cellar to feed my mimics.” She leans forward slightly, voice becoming silky.

“And then I found my mimics were dead. My hounds were dead. My tank was broken. My traps were sprung. It’s almost like,” she leans back in her richly upholstered chair, “When you think you’ve properly trained your dog and trust her to protect your home while you’re away, only to return and find she’s ripped apart all of your cushions and gotten into the larder. In this example,” she meets Dren’s eyes directly, “the misbehaving bitch is my traitorous granddaughter.” Dren flinches and looks away quickly, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes again.

She wants to explain how it wasn’t Devan’s fault. How the Clasp made her do it. She wants to plead for Devan’s life, for mercy, for forgiveness. But she doesn’t know what she could possibly say to melt the stone heart of the woman in front of her. Also, there's a silencing spell on her right now.

“Then it occurred to me that you were perhaps the most interesting thing that has ever died in my home. “ Dren looks up quickly. Adelaide leans forward again intently. “You’re a member of the Clasp.” She nods towards the tattoo which is clearly visible beneath Dren’s collarbone. Normally it’s hidden, but it looks like Tarvis stabbed her more times than she remembers before… well… dying, and her shirt seems to have suffered for it. “A Clasp member who died at the hands of her fellow Clasp members before I even arrived. I could see why my granddaughter would be dead. It makes sense to tie up a loose end. A little sloppy to do it while still on a job, but from what I saw of your team, it’s about what I would have expected. But you. What sort of loose end do you represent?” Adelaide Bluebutton stands and begins walking around the desk towards her, then stands behind her.

Dren is too terrified to move. She jumps when a hand falls on her shoulder. “I’ll make you a deal, my dear. You tell me why your Spireling sent you in to toss my home and kill my pets, you tell me what he was after, and you tell me why I should find you so intriguing, and in return, I’ll let you go.” Dren feels movement behind her, and the voice becomes closer still. “Of course, that won’t be the end of our dealings. You _will_ owe me a favor. Resurrections aren't cheap. But you will be free to go.”

Dren wrings her hands together nervously, starts to speak, remembers the silencing spell, stops, realizes that Adelaide must have dropped it to be speaking from over her shoulder, and says all in a rush, “We were sent in after the emerald only I got the feeling the it wasn’t the emerald we were after because Tarvis kept looking at papers, and then when we found your ledger he wanted to keep it and I’m real sorry ma’am but I tore it all to pieces. But I can fix it! I promise I can. And I tore it up because they were trying to kill Devan and I love Devan only they didn’t know, so I fought them but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter,” she starts crying again. “He killed her right in front of me. Just like he said he would.”

The hand starts to pull away from her shoulder but Dren twists in her chair and grasps on to Adelaide Bluebutton’s hand in both of hers and she _begs_. “Please ma’am, please, please bring Devan back like you did for me. She didn’t have any choice, the Clasp made her help Tarvis and break in here. She cut her hand all to pieces for them, and she fought for them, and she did everything they asked and they _still_ killed her.” She looks pleadingly up at the Shrew, whose face remains stony. Then she remembers, no mercy, no pity, no forgiveness. Just deals. She tries again. “Please Miss Bluebutton. I know I don’t look like much but I’m good at what I do and I’ll do _anything_ for you if you bring her back to me.”

The Shrew suddenly squeezes her hands back, her grip vicelike and Dren hisses in pain. “Will you promise to obey me?” The Shrew asks, leaning in. Dren nods. “Without question?” Dren nods again.

The Shrew leans impossibly closer, so close Dren can smell the mint leaves she must have been chewing earlier.

“Will you betray the Clasp?”

Dren meets Adelaide’s eye. “I already have.” For the first time since she came back to life, since before, when she first found out about this mission, she is sure of herself, “And I’d do it all again. For her.”

And like magic, The Shrew pulls back and smiles a slow, satisfied smile. She releases Dren’s hands and pats her on the head, like a child. Or a dog. “Good girl,” Adelaide says, clearly pleased. She walks back to her desk and sits down, pulling out an expensive looking bottle of something and pouring two glasses. Dren eyes it warily and waits for Adelaide to take the first sip.

Adelaide chuckles. Her whole demeanor has changed, and Dren is struggling to keep up.

“Clearly you understand prudence.” She sips hers, then sips Dren’s and returns it to her. Dren drinks. Brandy. _Expensive_ brandy. “But do you understand leverage?” She swirls the contents of her glass. “I’ve found that so few of the Clasp understand leverage. Certainly not the underlings. And even some of the Spirelings could use a lesson or two in making what people want work for them.” She takes another drink. “I’ll make this clear. Our first deal was: you tell me what I want to know, and you walk out of here with your life and the understanding that you owe me a future favor. I find myself satisfied with your answers, and will honor that deal.”

She shifts forward in her seat. “But now we have a new deal on the table. I bring in a cleric to resurrect my granddaughter, and you work for me. Even if I send you back to the Clasp, you work for me.” She sips again. “In fact, I’ll sweeten the deal. You will work for me, and so long as I am satisfied with your work, Devan will be safe.” She holds out her hand. “Do we have an accord?”

Dren hesitates, then throws caution to the wind, and counters, “We get to be together. And Devan won’t just be held like a prisoner.”

Adelaide smiles pleasantly. “Agreed,” she says easily. “So long as the missions I send you on permit it, you will be together. And whatever the circumstance, my granddaughter will not be held like a prisoner. So. Deal?”

As genial as Adelaide is being now, Dren knows she's in dangerous waters, but what other choice does she have? Return to the Clasp indebted to one of their biggest enemies? Well. She could probably make that work somehow. But leave Devan for dead? She could never. Dren takes the offered hand and shakes. “Deal.”

She _does_ understand leverage. And The Shrew holds all of the cards. Adelaide Bluebutton is known for her deals; famous for honoring them, and infamous for what she does to those who cross her. All in all, this is the brightest life has looked for her and Devan since they met all those weeks ago in the Clasp’s dungeon. Sure, they aren’t riding off into the sunset with a successful double cross behind them and an emerald the size of her head between them to start their new life together, but that was an impossible dream anyway. Tarvis saw to that.

“Excellent.” The Shrew throws back the rest of her drink, stands, and motions for Dren to follow. Dren gulps down her own drink, regrets it immediately, and scrambles to keep up. “I will provide you a room where you will stay while I take care of a few things. After that, you will see my granddaughter again, and then things will move very, very quickly. I suggest you start working on the story you will tell the Clasp when you return to them with my ledger.”

Maybe it’s the brandy, but Dren isn’t even shocked by that. She feels almost giddy. It will be dangerous, but her life has always been dangerous. At least now, she and Devan can be together. Whatever happens next, they’ll have each other.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Dren. You poor, sweet darling child. Also, check out Adelaide Bluebutton, wheeling and dealing. She's so much fun to write. 
> 
> This will most likely be the end of this tale. Anything else is getting dangerously close to being a plot, and I just do not have time for that. But... who knows. I certainly didn't expect to spend time this evening writing a second chapter for this. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!


End file.
